<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Night Was Made For Loving by harborshore</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25446499">The Night Was Made For Loving</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/harborshore/pseuds/harborshore'>harborshore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>HEYER Georgette - Works, The Reluctant Widow - Georgette Heyer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Consent, First Time, M/M, Mild Power Play, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Regency, Regency Romance, Somewhat Undernegotiated Kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:27:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25446499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/harborshore/pseuds/harborshore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“No, no, my dear,” Francis murmured, slim fingers tilting Nicky’s chin up. “Sit up straight, there you go, and don’t look down. I want to see you.”</p><p>Nicky wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen, but when he met Francis’s eyes, he changed his mind, for there was a light in them that lit him up in answer. </p><p>Nicholas Carlyon had an apology to make, but Francis was, as ever, full of surprises. </p><p>Title by Byron, whom I feel sure would approve of the contents.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nicholas Carlyon/Francis Cheviot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Night Was Made For Loving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">

        <li>
          Translation into Italiano available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611502">The Night Was Made For Loving (di Harborshore)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJill/pseuds/TJill">TJill</a>
        </li>


    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally caused by a blog post by the romance author KJ Charles, in which she posits that Heyer was telling the wrong story in The Reluctant Widow, because surely effeminate, ruthless, efficient Francis Cheviot is the actual hero of the piece. He gets all the good lines, too. And then I reread it and realised that a) she was right and b) Nicky was awfully fixated on Francis. Thus, regency porn.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nicky wasn’t sure how he’d found himself here, waiting for Francis Cheviot’s butler to announce him to the master of the house. It was only, well, he thought he owed Francis an apology for suspecting him of being a spy for the French, and for hounding him - though the way he went after Bouncer really was the outside of enough - and for thinking him a frippery fellow when clearly he was nothing but. </p><p>“Mr Cheviot will see you now,” the butler said, looking him up and down as if he was something the cat had dragged in. He wondered briefly whether Francis had a cat, or if he just preferred them to dogs, as he’d said, though it would be just like him to have said it just to be contrary.</p><p>“Cousin Nicholas,” Francis said in that light drawl of his once Nicky was admitted into the drawing room. He was, as usual, dressed in a bang-up rig, everything in quite the latest style, and Nicky was uncomfortably aware that his own cravat rather lacked elegance in comparison. “To what do I owe this rather unexpected pleasure?”</p><p>Nicky could feel himself colouring. Francis always did this to him, blast the man. </p><p>“I was in the neighbourhood,” he prevaricated, “and I thought I would stop in and say hello.”</p><p>“Only you’ve never done so before, dear boy, so you’ll have to forgive me for being just a little surprised.” Francis’s gaze was intent on him. A little more than usual, Nicky thought, and wondered what the reason for this focus was.</p><p>“Well,” he said, and decided to just go for it, as was his wont, because he wasn’t one to beat around the bush when being straightforward would do, to Ned’s despair. “I wanted to apologise, you know, for the whole thing where—“ he made an eloquent gesture which was supposed to stand in for “thinking you were a spy and setting my dog on you, besides the rest,” and Francis’s mouth quirked.</p><p>“Ah, yes, that whole thing where,” he agreed. “Sit down, cousin Nicholas, and pray don’t talk fustian at me, that is all done and dusted, and there’s no need to mention it anymore.”</p><p>Nicky sat, a little flummoxed. “Dash it,” he said, “I do mean it, you know.”</p><p>“I know you do,” Francis said gently. “You don’t lie very well, cousin Nicholas. It’s one of your better qualities.” His gaze slid over Nicky in a way that made him feel rather warm, really, and he resisted an urge to loosen his cravat.</p><p>“Call me Nicky,” he said, instead of any of the other things he was thinking about, “you make me feel like I’m in trouble when you call me cousin Nicholas like that. Only my governesses ever called me Nicholas at all, you know.”</p><p>Francis looked amused. “Nicky,” he said, as if he was testing it out. Nicky bit his lip, hearing Francis say his name like that. </p><p>“Yes,” he said. “That is what everyone calls me, and I wish you would too.”</p><p>“Certainly, my dear boy, whatever you wish,” Francis said lightly and Francis calling him dear boy, well. That felt odd.</p><p>“I do wish,” he said stubbornly, and Francis smiled. </p><p>“Do you also wish for some nuncheon?” he said. “I know you sturdy fellows need to eat all the time, or you positively waste away.”</p><p>“I wasn’t—“ Nicky hadn’t been planning to stay, but seeing the way Francis shrugged when he started to demur, as if he was just a little disappointed but didn’t want to show it, he changed his mind in mid-sentence, “that would be lovely, thank you, cousin Francis."</p><p>“If you’re Nicky to me, I shall certainly be Francis to you,” Francis said, but he looked happier, and rang the bell to request some “light repast, you know, my cousin is here and he shall want something to eat.” </p><p>Nicky wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow he ended up spending the whole day with Francis, who kept an excellent household, and turned out to both be rather fun to hang around, and skilled enough at the rapier that he was more than Nicky’s match. The dinner, moreover, exceeded anything Nicky ever had in town, and anywhere else really, besides at the hall, because Ned kept the best cook in the entire county, really. </p><p>Rolling the brandy glass in his hand, he said artlessly, “You know, you’re a rather excellent fellow when you aren’t pretending to be ill and such.”</p><p>Francis’s mouth quirked. “Pretending?” he said. </p><p>Nicky looked at him, as sternly as he could manage, as the brandy by this time had rather gone to his head. “All that stuff about putrid sore throats, when really you were stealing papers and trying to sort out French spies.”</p><p>Francis waved an impeccably manicured hand. No one would have thought, looking at him, that he had the kind of skill with a rapier Nicky had seen him demonstrate today. “Don’t lets talk about that,” he said. “I’ve never had such anxious weeks in my life.”</p><p>“Stuff,” Nicky said. “Ned said he’d never seen anyone cooler.”</p><p>“Well if your brother says so,” Francis said, a little waspish, “clearly it’s true. Carlyon never stirs for anything, does he?”</p><p>”That’s our fault,” Nicky said ruefully. “We were forever getting into such scrapes that eventually he just stopped reacting.” </p><p>“Ah, but you’ve grown up now, haven’t you,” Francis said musingly, “in spite of still insisting on that rather childish name.”</p><p>Nicky didn’t bristle. If he’d learned anything today, it was that Francis never stopped needling you, really, and you just had to wait until he got to what he actually wanted to say. </p><p>“Yes,” he said instead. “Being a grown man isn’t in what you’re called, is it? Or what people think of you.”</p><p>“No,” Francis breathed. “I suppose it isn’t. And what do you think of me now, Nicky?”</p><p>Nicky could feel himself turning beet red, because truthfully the thoughts he was having just now about Francis, bathed in firelight, that fine, lithe body relaxed on the sofa, weren’t the sort he wanted to utter out loud. </p><p>Francis’s smile spread at that, and his sprawl turned just a little more lazy. </p><p>“Nicky,” he said. “I feel as though there’s something you want to ask me, perhaps?” </p><p>Nicky shook his head, mutely. There was, but he had no words for this, none at all.</p><p>Francis tilted his head, considering him. </p><p>“Why don’t you come here, dear boy,” he suggested, and his knees spread just that slight inch further, despite his tight breeches, and Nicky thought he could just about fit between them. His mouth was very dry.</p><p>He put down his glass. It seemed a very long way to Francis, when in reality, it was just three steps. Sinking to his knees in front of him, he tucked his chin, staring at the floor. His face was burning.</p><p>“No, no, my dear,” Francis murmured, slim fingers tilting Nicky’s chin up. “Sit up straight, there you go, and don’t look down. I want to see you.”</p><p>Nicky wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen, but when he met Francis’s eyes, he changed his mind, for there was a light in them that lit him up in answer. </p><p>Sliding his thumb along Nicky’s lower lip, he said, “Dear boy, your mouth would try a saint, did you know?”</p><p>Nicky’s mouth fell open slightly in response to that, and Francis’s thumb slid in, which, oh, Nicky knew what this was aping, even though he’d never experienced it for himself before. Feeling like he did whenever he did something he knew was perhaps just a little bit reckless, he closed his mouth and sucked, and was rewarded by Francis tightening his grip on his chin, gaze growing more intent.</p><p>“I shouldn’t take an offer not fully thought through,” he said as if to himself, and Nicky wanted to protest, because clearly he was offering, even if he wasn’t quite sure exactly what, here.</p><p>He tried to protest with his eyes, and that seemed to be effective, for Francis bent down to kiss him, and oh, Nicky had never been kissed before, if that was what it was really like. He’d kissed a few girls, here and there, for a lark, mostly, and it had always been nice, but Francis kissed like he wanted to own you, and Nicky was a little surprised to find out that he might actually like to be owned. If Francis was doing the owning, anyway.</p><p>His hand was quite tight in Nicky’s hair now, and that felt good too, Nicky thought, pulling experimentally against his grip and feeling the answering tug between his legs. Francis misinterpreted it, however, and loosened his fingers, leaning back out of the kiss.</p><p>“What’d you stop for?” Nicky blurted, and Francis’s mouth, pulling into a frown, was startled into a laugh.</p><p>“I wanted to make sure you were enjoying yourself, dear boy,” he said, “but I can see that you are.” His glance at Nicky’s by now very visible cockstand was eloquent. </p><p>Nicky flushed. “Dash it,” he started, but wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.</p><p>“No, don’t mind me,” Francis said, “I think you should, hmm, why don’t you let me loosen your cravat.”</p><p>“In the book room?” Nicky said, aghast.</p><p>“Never fear, the servants have gone to bed,” Francis said, smiling gently at him. “They never stay up when I’m entertaining.”</p><p>“You’ve entertained a lot, have you?” Nicky said. Something about that made him feel a little odd.</p><p>“Not like this, I assure you,” Francis said hastily, and as it made him lose some of his urbane air, Nicky found he believed him, and breathed a little easier. “Just, my dinners frequently run late, you know, and Crawley won’t turn up until I ring from my bedchamber, so the rest don’t need to stay up.”</p><p>“That’s awfully decent of you,” Nicky said.</p><p>Francis made an impatient gesture. “Nothing of the sort,” he said, “I’m not decent, you know that, you’ve said so yourself.”</p><p>“Yes,” said Nicky patiently, “but I already apologised for being wrong about you, so it is the outside of enough for you to go on pretending so.”</p><p>Francis’s mouth quirked. “You’re more astute than people give you credit for,” he said, and in a voice that could almost be termed a purr, added, “now, how about your cravat, why don’t you take it off for me. Careful, mind you.”</p><p>Nicky bit his lip, gratified by the way that made Francis’s gaze drop to his mouth as if hypnotised. “If you want, Francis,” he said, and began, handing it over to Francis when he had the folds of fabric loose in his hand.</p><p>“Not bad, darling,” Francis drawled. “Taking it off is easier than putting it on, eh?” As if he knew that Nicky had spent upwards of an hour trying out his fold that morning, because one couldn’t very well visit Francis Cheviot with a badly done cravat, now could one? </p><p>“Yes,” he said, “but I expect it’s easy for you, isn’t it?” He no longer thought that for all Francis’s protestations, that he found dressing to be such a trial as he always claimed.</p><p>“Not easy, perhaps,” Francis prevaricated, but his smile told Nicky he wasn’t far off the mark.</p><p>“Dash it,” he said, “why do you put it about that you care for nothing but clothes, and, and good ton, and society?” He flushed to find himself stammering a little, but he did want to know, because it wasn’t a different Francis before him now, precisely, but he fancied Francis <em>was</em> showing him more of himself, and he rather thought more people should see him like this.</p><p>Well. Not exactly like this, perhaps.</p><p>Francis raised an eyebrow. “But I do care for those things, dear boy,” he said. “If I didn’t surround myself with beautiful things, and if I wasn’t aware of the difference between a good coat and a bad one, how would I know to appreciate such a sight as you are, right now?” His finger was back under Nicky’s chin, tilting it up.</p><p>Nicky felt himself flush yet again, cheeks over-warm with the appreciation he could see in Francis’s gaze.</p><p>He felt a nudge by his booted foot. “Why don’t you spread your knees a little, darling?”</p><p>It wasn’t easy, in those tight breeches, but he tried.</p><p>“Yes,” Francis purred. “Quite, quite beautiful, my boy. It looks like you want something. Would you like to tell me what it is?”</p><p>Nicky wanted to look down, or away, but there was no escaping those eyes. “You, you know,” he said, with some difficulty, for Francis’s foot was very close to where his breeches really were becoming a little painful. </p><p>“I think I do,” Francis agreed, “but I should like it so much if you would tell me.”</p><p>Nicky licked his lips. “I should like it,” he started, but had trouble finding the words to finish his sentence. It seemed quite improper to go on.</p><p>“Hm?” Francis said, and Nicky fancied his foot was nudging closer.</p><p>“I wish you’d touch me,” he blurted, and Francis smiled, approving.</p><p>“I am touching you,” he pointed out gently. </p><p>Nicky glared at him. “You know what I mean,” he said.</p><p>“Oh, I do,” Francis said. “You want me to touch your cock, don’t you?”</p><p>Nicky’s mouth was bone-dry, so parched he’d never felt anything like it. “Yes,” he whispered.</p><p>“Good boy,” Francis said, and that stirred something in Nicky too. </p><p>Sliding his hand around to curve over Nicky’s jaw and cheek, Francis bent down to kiss him again, another one of those all-consuming kisses, drinking him in. He tasted faintly of brandy, still, and Nicky strained up towards him.</p><p>“Easy,” Francis said, pulling back, fingers winding into Nicky’s curls. “Darling boy, you’re beautifully eager, but we must save something for later.”</p><p>“You must take me for quite the innocent,” Nicky said bravely, even though he certainly hadn’t done anything like this before, but he was not about to be put off with such a line as that.</p><p>Francis smiled. “Oh, my dear, only in the ways that matter,” he said gently, but he seemed to oblige Nicky anyway, rising, one hand on his head to keep him on the ground. “Can I get you out of your coat like this, do you think? Yes, I think I can do the trick, though it was terribly lacking in foresight of me to not take care of it before. Kneel up a little, darling, and we shall contrive.”</p><p>Nicky did as he was asked, trembling slightly to feel Francis take hold of him and get him out of his rather tight coat. Shoulders pulled back, his arms were caught by the sleeves for a second, and Francis hummed. </p><p>“No,” he said decisively, and slid it all the way off, and then the waistcoat, and Nicky was left in his shirtsleeves, on his knees in the book room of Francis Cheviot, the master of the house standing behind him.</p><p>“Do you know,” he said, “your back makes such a pleasing picture like this.” He traced lightly over Nicky’s shoulder, causing a shiver to run through him. “Lit by the fire, your shirt is quite translucent, and, oh. They could use you for one of those anatomical studies, my dear. What <em>do</em> you do to get shoulders like these?”</p><p>Nicky, by now more than aware that Francis Cheviot’s lithe appearance hid a lot of unexpected strength, scoffed. “You know that very well,” he said, aware that his voice cracked slightly in the middle of the phrase, as Francis slid a finger up his throat, but unable to stop it from doing so. </p><p>“Perhaps,” Francis allowed, hand back in Nicky’s curls. “But it is beautiful to look at. I think I want a closer look. Unbutton your shirt for me, darling.”</p><p>Nicky’s hands shook as he did it, but he was powerless to resist.</p><p>“There,” Francis said, and Nicky’s shirt was whisked off, and that was something, wasn’t it, being on his knees and half-naked. He’d never done anything so risqué before, and yet he felt quite safe, somehow, despite being both embarrassed and a little desperate. Something in him was certain that Francis would keep him safe.</p><p>“Quite beautiful,” Francis said warmly. “Oh, Nicky, if I’d known this was what awaited me this morning—“ he didn’t finish the sentence, so Nicky glanced at him.</p><p>“You’d what?” he prompted.</p><p>“Not gotten out of bed in such a bad mood, to start,” Francis said, smiling at him. “Tell me, darling, do you like this?”</p><p>Nicky felt there was no end to the blushing this evening, because there he went again, but he managed to utter a somewhat strangled “Yes,” which won him a caress and another, “Good boy.”</p><p>“We’d better do something about that, though,” Francis said musingly, eyes dropping to Nicky’s cockstand, which, it was a wonder it hadn’t escaped the fall yet.</p><p>“M-hm,” he said, and Francis, smiling, walked around to his front again.</p><p>“You did say you wanted me to touch you,” he said, kneeling down carefully in front of Nicky, one knowing hand sliding up his thigh and then covering his crotch. </p><p>Nicky nodded, mute with desire for he did not know what, except that this touch was quite different than any he’d experienced before.</p><p>“If I get you to spend,” Francis said musingly, drawing him out, and Nicky was perilously close to that already, “do you think I could get you to do so again?” He raised an enquiring eyebrow at Nicky who nodded again, because that would certainly be easy enough, if he continued to feel like this. He’d never spent more than once in a night before, but with Francis, he could not doubt his abilities.</p><p>“This truly is a lovely turn of events,” Francis murmured, one hand grasping Nicky quite tightly and the other deftly pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. </p><p>“We must take care of the mess, you see,” he explained to Nicky, as he began pulling on him and Nicky made a noise he couldn’t stifle in time to hide it from Francis, who looked immensely pleased. </p><p>“There are a number of ways to do so,” he added musingly, “and perhaps we shall try one of the other ones, later, but I find I want to kiss you, dear boy, and so there’s no helping it.” He did so, and Nicky, caught between Francis’s mouth and his hand, was not long in spending with a muffled cry into his mouth. </p><p>“Beautiful,” Francis said, pulling back a little, “and I kept the worst of the mess from your trousers, wasn’t that clever of me?” </p><p>Nicky couldn’t help himself, he laughed helplessly, and Francis grinned right back, smile turning a trifle sharp when Nicky shivered as his spent member was knowingly caressed.</p><p>“Yes,” he said, “I think we shall have no trouble getting you to spend again, or what do you think?”</p><p>“No,” Nicky said, “ah, no, none at all, for that feels—oh, Francis.”</p><p>“How I do like it when you say my name in that tone of voice,” Francis said. “I must endeavour to make you do so quite often. But now, dear boy, I think you should help me out of my coat, and I shall get you out of those boots and make sure we don’t spoil all our efforts to keep your breeches clean.” </p><p>A little shaky, Nicky rose to his feet, one hand hitching up his breeches to keep them on his hips, as Francis solicitously cleaned him off and Nicky could feel the first faint stirrings of another cockstand coming on as he did so. </p><p>“Yes, there,” Francis said, satisfied, and backed off, turning his back to Nicky. “My coat, if you please.” </p><p>It was a very tightly fitted coat, as befitted the man of fashion that Francis certainly was, and it caused Nicky no end of trouble, but he did finally contrive, and laid it carefully over the arm of the sofa.</p><p>“Well done, dear boy,” Francis said, and his voice was like a caress, tugging at Nicky. “You’d make a tolerable valet, one of these days.”</p><p>It should have been an insult, but it wasn’t, and Nicky thought a little wildly that being Francis’s valet might be quite taxing (he well knew it was) but wouldn’t it be worth it if one got to clothe and unclothe him?</p><p>“Now, your boots,” Francis said musingly. “You’d better sit, and I’d better take my turn acting the valet, shall I?” He ushered Nicky down, and the image of him kneeling and assiduously pulling off one boot, then the other, hands caressing up Nicky’s calves as he did so, was enough for Nicky to need to look up, bracing himself so as to not spend again already.</p><p>“You have quite lovely feet,” Francis said, still on his knees before him. “But your calves are a work of art, darling, has anyone ever told you so?”</p><p>“No,” Nicky said, “no one has ever—talked to me the way you do.”</p><p>“And do you mind it?” Francis said, rising, brushing a speck of dust that must have been imaginary off the sleeve of his shirt.</p><p>“No,” Nicky said, unable to keep from being honest. “I don’t mind, in fact, I, I quite like it, you know.”</p><p>“I thought you did,” Francis said warmly, his voice back to being the kind of warm that feels like a touch, and Nicky shivered minutely. “Now rise, my dear, I want to get the last things off of you, and then you may help me with my boots.”</p><p>“The last things” turned out to mean, well, everything, and Nicky was hard-pressed not to move to cover himself after Francis turned away to hang his breeches and smalls over the back of a chair, but he was rewarded by the look in Francis’s eyes when he turned back and saw Nicky.</p><p>“Oh, darling,” he breathed and was back with him in two quick steps, pressed close and those knowing, slim hands firm on Nicky’s hips with that uncanny strength of theirs. “Darling, you are exquisite.” That last was said against Nicky’s lips, and Nicky couldn’t keep himself from making a noise into the kiss when Francis grasped his arse quite firmly, nearly making him rise onto his toes with the feeling of it.</p><p>Francis drew back, hands still gripping tight, looking at him searchingly. “Yes?” he said, nudging a knee up between Nicky’s legs. Nicky’s knees grew rather wobbly at that, and yes, he nodded against Francis’s shoulder, because whatever that was, it felt so very, very good.</p><p>“Dear boy,” Francis breathed against his mouth, “you are an unasked-for treasure, did you know?” His fingers crept slightly inwards, and Nicky moaned into the kiss. There were verbs for this, and a good deal of other words, too, most of them bad, but he couldn’t quite find it in himself to care at all. Anyway, surely anything that felt this good couldn’t be wrong?</p><p>Francis encouraged him to rub up against his leg, and though they were of slightly unequal heights, Nicky found he could contrive. Mostly, he was so very focused on the way Francis’s fingers were tugging his buttocks apart and lightly, lightly slipping into the middle, grazing his hole. Moaning, he had to hold on to Francis to keep standing, and found himself arching his back into his touch.</p><p>“We want oil for this part,” Francis said, slightly regretfully. “Do you mind, hm.” He kissed Nicky firmly, hand still on his arse, and Nicky didn’t think he would mind anything at all, if only this continued. </p><p>“Ah, yes,” Francis said, his gaze clearly alighting on something, and he encouraged Nicky to move back towards the couch. “If you bend over like so, dear boy, I will return, just give me—“</p><p>Nicky was brought to kneel down and bend over, and he blushed fiercely to think what he might look like, his bare arse turned up. </p><p>“Oh, you are lovely like this,” Francis said, back at his side, holding something.</p><p>“I feel like I’m back at Eton,” Nicky said ruefully, because he did, except it wasn’t like that at all.</p><p>Francis’s smile turned wicked. “I’m certain your tutors never punished you in the nude,” he says, hand sliding over Nicky’s buttock. “Or if they did, I missed out on some formative experiences at Eton.”</p><p>“No, not in the nude,” Nicky admitted. “But it was embarrassing, like this.”</p><p>“And did you like that?” Francis said.</p><p>Nicky swallowed, looking up at Francis. “Maybe I did, a little,” he said. </p><p>Francis’s gaze darkened. “That,” he said, “is a dangerous thing to tell me. But I think I shan’t allow myself to be distracted, right now.”</p><p>Nicky licked his lips, watching Francis track it, eyes so very hungry it felt like they could strip Nicky’s flesh from the bone. Francis’s grip hardened, nails digging in a trifle, and Nicky drew a breath, just about keeping back a moan.</p><p>“We shall, perhaps, investigate this at some other time,” Francis said. “For now, dear boy, I believe you want something, and I am in a very good position to give it to you. Even if I shall have to use lamp oil.”</p><p>“Lamp oil?” Nicky said, and realised immediately what Francis meant to use it for when he felt his fingers creep inwards again, now slippery.</p><p>“Yes,” Francis said, eyes intent on his face. “Lamp oil, to open you up, my darling, because your arse is crying out for it. All that horseback riding, I suppose, to get you those thighs and these divine buttocks, fit enough for a Grecian statue, I should think.”</p><p>Quite red now, Nicky meant to protest, but that was when Francis first breached him, finger slipping in, and it felt so odd and yet so good that he moaned instead, back arching. </p><p>“Good?” Francis asked in a voice that sounded like silk felt, and all Nicky could do was nod. It was, somehow, even as it hurt a trifle, so very good indeed.</p><p>Francis kissed him for that, and Nicky felt like spun glass, pulled between Francis’s fingers and his hot, searching mouth. He wriggled slightly and Francis laughed against his lips. </p><p>“Eager, are we?” he purred, and Nicky didn’t think his blush could get any brighter. But yes, yes he was. A second finger joined the first and that was better somehow, even as it was harder to take. Such a strange sensation, being opened so, but undeniably good.</p><p>“Oh,” he said, rubbing his cheek against the soft chintz of Francis’s beautiful sofa. He could just about see Francis like this by looking back over his shoulder.</p><p>“Good?” Francis said, fingers stilling.“Excellent,” Nicky breathed, and grinned when he heard Francis laugh.</p><p>“You,” he said, fingers turning and coaxing quite a noise out of Nicky, “are a delight. A gift quite unasked for. Cousin, I do declare you must visit me unannounced all the time.”</p><p>“Certainly,” Nicky tried to say but failed, because Francis’s clever fingers twisted again, and there was something he’d never felt before, like fireworks behind his eyes.</p><p>“Yes,” Francis said, “there, that’s good, is it not?” He bent in to kiss Nicky again, licking and biting at his lower lip, even as his fingers spread inside. Nicky thought that if this went on he wasn’t far from coming again, which he thought was not what Francis wanted yet, but he couldn’t put the words together, the sensations inside his body too wild, warring with his words.</p><p>“Can you take a third, do you think?” Francis said, and Nicky thought he would say yes to anything Francis asked, just now. He nodded and was rewarded by a beautiful smile spreading across Francis’s face, as the third finger snuck inside. It was more difficult, that time, a dull ache, almost, but Francis looked at him and then stretched out his free hand for the oil, adding more, and then slid his fingers underneath Nicky, grasping his cockstand. That slippery touch was more than enough to outweigh the ache, and somehow it made that better too, Nicky’s body like hot oil itself, or perhaps wax, reshaped in accordance with Francis’s desires.</p><p>“If you could see, dear boy,” Francis murmured, “the way you’re so beautifully open right now—“ he trailed off, kissing Nicky’s chin, his cheek, his hot mouth. Nicky drew a breath, because he both wanted and didn’t want to see that, and he wanted something else so desperately now.</p><p>“Please—“ he said, trying to tell Francis. “Please, Francis, I want you to—“ he couldn’t finish the sentence, blushing too hotly. Absurd after this evening, to be blushing at all, but there it was.</p><p>“What do you want, my darling?” Francis said, voice all over silk again, and Nicky cried out as his fingers grazed over that place inside of him again.</p><p>“I want you,” he managed, “please, Francis.”</p><p>“I know you know the word,” Francis said lightly, stilling his touch.</p><p>“Fuck,” Nicky got out, and laughed as he did, for this was surely the strangest adventure he’d ever been on. “Fuck, Francis, I want you to fuck me.”</p><p>“Your wish,” Francis breathed, nipping at his lower lip, “is my command.”</p><p>Which was surely the opposite of everything that had happened tonight, except that no, it had all happened as Nicky would’ve wanted if he had but known it was possible, and that it would feel like this. He smiled at Francis as he pulled out and rose and hastily divested himself of his vest and shirt.</p><p>“Next time I want to do that,” he said.</p><p>Francis laughed. “Next time, dear boy, you shall play valet as much as you desire.”</p><p>Grinning, Nicky arched slightly and was pleased to see the way that made Francis’s gaze rivet to him.</p><p>“I shall do whatever you want,” he said, “if only we might do this again.”</p><p>Francis’s face turned very serious suddenly, and his voice, when he next spoke, was far from languid. “Only promise,” he said, “to never give anyone such a blank check again.”</p><p>Nicky rolled his eyes. This was just like when John got going, which he shouldn’t tell Francis, who was sure to mislike the comparison. “Lord,” he said, “as if I’ll do this with anyone but you.”</p><p>“And why is that?” Francis said, still strangely frozen.</p><p>Nicky sat up at that, wincing a little to feel how strange it was, to be this open and have nothing inside. “As if it would be any good,” he said pointedly, “after this.”</p><p>Francis began to smile. “Impertinent little monkey,” he said.</p><p>“Little?” Nicky said, making as if to get up.</p><p>“No, no, quite large, in every single way that matters,” Francis said, grinning now, one slim hand outstretched to tangle in his curls and keep him on his knees. “Be patient, brat, and I’ll get back to our business, only let me finish getting out of my clothes.”</p><p>“Only do it fast,” Nicky said. “A man could get cold, waiting for you.”</p><p>“We can’t have that,” Francis said, and he was nude. Nicky’s mouth was dry, looking over that pale skin. There were scars, surprisingly, and he wondered what else Francis might’ve done that had gotten him that edge with the rapier. But mostly he was beautiful, and Nicky wanted him.</p><p>He held out his hand in mute appeal and Francis was back next to him in a flash, coaxing him back down to bend over the couch.</p><p>“There,” he murmured, one hand sliding over Nicky’s flank. “One of these days we must explore what you said about punishment, but for now, I think you rather want something inside, don’t you?”</p><p>“Your cock,” Nicky said boldly, because he knew it would make Francis laugh, and because that was what he wanted, rather burningly.</p><p>“Your wish,” Francis said again, and Nicky breathed in, because there it was, oh, that wasn’t something he’d ever felt before, and Francis’s cock wasn’t all that slim, which—</p><p>“Please,” he breathed out, and Francis halted.</p><p>“Are you—“ he began, voice a little hoarse.</p><p>“No,” Nicky said, “it’s good, please go on, please—“ his voice broke at that, but this strange in-between stage was too odd, too difficult to bear.</p><p>“Push on, you say?” Francis said mildly and did, and oh, oh. When he pushed in all the way it was like nothing Nicky had ever experienced before.</p><p>Nicky cried out, wordless in his want, and Francis wasn’t much better, murmuring something terribly soppy into his shoulder. Nicky didn’t think any of it was true, but he didn’t mind, so much, because being opened up like this felt strange and new and it was making him a little soppy, too.</p><p>“You—“ Francis started, and pulled back, pushing forward again when Nicky cursed him, and evidently found himself enough to laugh and to take hold of both Nicky’s wrists, one in each hand, pushing them into the sofa.</p><p>Nicky, who’d rather been counting on being able to touch himself, protested but didn’t try to pull out of Francis’s grip, because it was both firm and steady and felt somehow very good.</p><p>“You’ll come on my cock,” Francis promised him, and Nicky whined.</p><p>“I can’t,” he assured Francis, who laughed again.</p><p>“You are a singularly capable young fellow, dear boy,” he said, “I am assured you can do anything you truly put your mind to.”</p><p>Nicky tried to tell him that he was a hateful fellow and a miserable tease, but as Francis took that moment to push in again, grinding him against the couch, he fell to moaning instead.</p><p>“You take to this like you were born to it,” Francis murmured. “True Quality.”</p><p>Nicky half-laughed, too desperate to even think about a retort.</p><p>“You,” he said, and moaned again when Francis started up a slow, torturous rhythm. “How did you—“</p><p>“How did I get good at this? Practice, my dear Nicholas, but I must admit you could tempt a saint or even inspire Casanova to new heights of depravity.” Francis was noticeably breathy now, which was absurdly flattering, Nicky thought, grinning into the sofa, rubbing his face against it like he wanted to rub his cock. He tried furtively pushing his hips forward, but Francis tutted. </p><p>“No, darling,” he said, “I can’t have you ruining my couch.”</p><p>“You don’t care about the couch,” Nicky said. “You just, oh,” he breaks off, panting, "want to, fuck, torture me.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Francis allowed. “You do suffer beautifully, you know. It makes me want to put you on your knees in my study, waiting for me like the good boy you are. I’d open you up first and leave you with a little glass contraption I bought in the less reputable parts of Paris, shall we say. They call it a <em>conduceour</em>. Do you know what it is?”</p><p>Nicky shook his head. He dearly wanted to know, however.</p><p>“No, I thought you might not. It’s made of glass, and it looks rather like a Christmas ornament, or it would, if it weren’t shaped rather like a cock. I could leave it in you for as long as I wanted, you see.” Francis let go of one of his wrists in favour of fingering along Nicky’s opening, tracing where Francis’s cock breached him.</p><p>Nicky shifted his hips, trying still to get some friction. That thought, to be left waiting for Francis, held open by something cold and smooth, he could almost feel it, the way it would feel, how hard it would be to think.</p><p>“It would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” Francis asked, smiling into his skin. “Perhaps I’d put a mark or two on you, first, so I’d have something to look at.” </p><p>“You—“ Nicky got out, but failed to make any kind of sentence follow the word, gasping when Francis ground forward into him, pushing him into the couch.</p><p>“You’re very close, aren’t you?” Francis said. “Why don’t you wait for me, my darling. I do want you to wait, if you can do it.”</p><p>“I can,” Nicky said, even though he wanted to claim he absolutely couldn’t. </p><p>“Of course you can,” Francis said warmly, if, Nicky thought, a trifle shakily. Perhaps even his calm was being shattered at last. “My good boy.”</p><p>Nicky made what he would later think of as a very embarrassing noise but Francis must have liked it because he pushed in once, twice, and then Nicky felt him spend inside, which, oh, “please,” he said, quite frantic.</p><p>Francis quite understandably seemed to need a moment to recover his wits, but then his hand covered Nicky and pulled and said, “Now, darling,” and Nicky needed no more than that to spend, everything whiting out into incredible pleasure. </p><p>He came to with Francis nosing behind his ear and kissing his neck, murmuring what could only be called sweet nothings into his skin, which was lovely, and Nicky almost didn’t want to announce that he was awake. Francis noticed, anyway, making an amused noise and pulling back a trifle.</p><p>“I’m going to pull out, dear boy, which shall probably feel a little odd.”</p><p>Nicky nodded, and it did feel odd, his whole body felt strange somehow, but not in a way he minded. He peered up at Francis who was standing, starting to pull his trousers back on.</p><p>“If only I’d thought to keep a dressing gown or something in here,” he said. “We may just have to move through the house with you wrapped in curtains, like Baldrick and his cronies at those infamous festivities in Bath.”</p><p>Nicky grinned. “I heard about that,” he said.</p><p>“My darling, everyone heard about that.” Francis smiled down at him. “You look particularly enticing right now, you know, all fucked out and beautifully languid. Would you like to stay over, so we can do this again in the morning?”</p><p>Nicky wet his lips. “Won’t your valet notice a strange man in your bedchamber?” he said.</p><p>“Not in my bedchamber, I think, the room next to mine shall suffice admirably. And I shall ask not to be disturbed until very late.”</p><p>“But—they’ll know, the servants always know.” </p><p>Francis shook his head at him. “You know the deception I’ve carried out in the last few years, and you still doubt my ability to flummox my own staff?”</p><p>“I suppose not,” Nicky said, “only I shouldn’t want to be the reason that changes. I’m not a very good liar, you know.” </p><p>“Now that’s true,” Francis said. “But I suspect I can contrive for both of us.” He held a hand out to Nicky, helping him rise to his feet, looking him over. “Oh, you’re a delight,” he murmured, sounding pleased and kissing Nicky, one hand sliding down to his arse and caressing it. </p><p>Nicky felt his cock stir faintly, as if he could get another rise out of it at this point.</p><p>Francis laughed. “Insatiable,” he said, and the touch was firm and knowing and too much, but Nicky bore it, leaning on Francis and panting for breath. </p><p>“I’m going to take you to bed, my boy,” he said, and Nicky nodded against his shoulder. Francis would contrive, he was sure of it. He thought about the morning and smiled. He'd have to think about something particularly good to surprise Francis with, if they truly weren't to be disturbed until late.</p><p>Their journey through the corridors of Francis’s rooms was uneventful, and Nicky manfully resisted pulling Francis into doorways and kissing him, merely telegraphing his intention by meaningfully leaning into his cousin. As Francis put him to bed, he kissed Nicky again, and leaned back.</p><p>“Temptation incarnate,” he said softly. “I must to my own bed, but dear Nicholas, I’m ever so glad you visited today.”</p><p>“So am I,” Nicky said. "So am I."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There MIGHT be a sequel happening.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>